


A Bad Boy to Blow Your Mind

by NarryEm



Series: One Direction Erotica/Fluff-fest/Wangst as written by EmilyY [64]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Docking, Drag Queens, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryEm/pseuds/NarryEm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was meant to be a joke to celebrate the end of midterms. Zayn and his friends go to a drag queen show for shits and giggles. It's at the drag show that Zayn meets a captivating bloke with piercing blue eyes and a cute bum who goes by the stage name of Medea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bad Boy to Blow Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Title adopted from _”Bang Bang”_ by Jessie J, Arianna Grande, and Nicki Minaj. Yeah. Just some good ol’ drag queen/stripper Louis fic where he sasses all over poor Zayn’s heart.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” Zayn quirks an eyebrow at the tickets that Niall is brandishing in front of him.

“We’ll have a great craic!” Niall exclaims. Harry nods emphatically, hanging all over Niall’s back.

“One of my friends is in it and he’s the regular audience’s absolute favourite,” Harry inserts. “And it’s for charity!”

Zayn sighs. He can’t say no now, can he? Especially not when Liam is doing the Bambi face along with Niall and Harry. And they are right, surprisingly enough. The midterm season is wrapping up and he could use some stress relief.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He hopes that he won’t regret it. The last thing he wants is for some dudes to hit on him whilst he’s at the club. His last relationship ended up a rather bitter note and he doesn’t want a repeat, ever.

Harry goes into a long-winded story about his morning and Niall watches him with that sickly love-struck look in his eyes. Zayn tunes them out, choosing to focus on his mind mapping on the criminal code sections instead.

 

 

-

 

 

The nightclub is garish and loud, which Zayn supposes is something he should expect from a gay club. The show isn’t due to begin for another hour but the stage area is already packed and they’re mostly men from what Zayn can tell. He has got a few drinks in him already and the bright multi-coloured lights are giving him the beginnings of a headache.

“Look a little more sour, why don’t ya?” Niall shouts into his ear.

“Don’t I always?” Zayn shouts back. He makes sure that his coat is still hung on the back of his chair before he stands up and announces, “Gonna get another drink.”

The bar counter is more or less empty since most of the club patrons are trying to get the best seats. He is ordering himself some scotch when someone catches his eye.

It’s a boy, that’s the first thing his mind registers. Even in the shitty lighting, he can see the way his blue eyes are appraising the crowd coldly. His haircut accentuates the angles and curves of his face and what a pretty face it is too. Zayn nearly gets a whiplash from turning his head around when the pretty boy turns to peer at him. To his surprise, the boy practically skips towards him.

“Hullo,” he greets. Closer up, Zayn can see dark eyeshadow feathered out around his eyes.

“Are you one of the performers?” Zayn hazards a guess.

“Genius, ain’t ya?” The Yorkshire accent is somewhat comforting and Zayn wants to hear more of his voice. “Been doing it for a while and it’s more fun than you’d think.”

Zayn has to bite back a scoff. “Spending hours in front of a mirror and applying makeup? I don’t know how birds have the patience for that shite, mate.”

“Excuse you!” Pretty Boy puffs up. “It’s an art and I’ll have you know that I do not take hours to get ready for a show.”

“Really?” Zayn rakes his eyes up and down the other bloke’s body. He’s wearing a zip-up hoodie and shorts, and besides than the makeup, he is in a typical street wear. “Can’t wait to see you up on stage then.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it.”

The performer leaves him and Zayn doesn’t miss the extra swing to his hips as he saunters away. He definitely does not think about how marvellous that arse would look on his bed sheets. Nor does he think about those blue eyes looking up whilst he is on his knees.

 

By the time the show starts, Zayn is pleasantly buzzed, drunk enough to tolerate Niall and Harry’s couple bullshit that would normally have him whinging already. All the lights blink out and instead of panic, excited cheers and applause fills up the dark space.

A familiar tune fills up the room and Zayn groans. He’s listened to enough of the mainstream pop and thankfully, they start off with something slightly less offensive like that Taylor Swift song. Just as Taylor Swift’s voice is singing ‘ _I could show you incredible things’_ , spotlights illuminate the stage. The blood red curtains drop and behind them are eight contestants. Zayn’s eyes zero in on the performer with glacial blue eyes in a ridiculous metallic dress with a sheer lacy back. The clingy material really accentuates his round bum, Zayn notes.

The drag queens do their routine and Zayn knows that he should be looking at all of them since the audience vote does come into play later on when they’re judging and stuff. But there is something about the blue-eyed man that lures Zayn in time and time again. He looks like he was born to do it, dominate the stage and enthral everyone with a simple flick of his wrist, a bit of hip swaying, a pout mouth, or that devious and filthy wink that he throws into the crowd at the end of his group routine.

It’s Zayn’s luck that he has to wait nearly an hour until he gets to see that guy again. Zayn doesn’t recognise the song that blares out of the speakers. The announcer calls him Medea and Zayn’s mind flashes back to the Greek mythology course he took in his first year. Medea was the hero Jason’s wife who killed their children after she discovered that Jason agreed to marry some other princess. Crazy, power-hungry sorceress would sum her up well enough and Louis fits that bill, in a way. He is enchanting, especially so in the crop top and skirt outfit that he has changed into. The skirt seems to be a simple floor-length one at first glance but with every dance move, the fabric slinks to the side and reveals Medea’s luscious thighs and a glimpse of his arse cheeks.

Medea takes on a fierce, slightly pissed off and sassy expression and lip-synchs, _‘You always knew how to push my buttons. You give me everything and nothing. This mad, mad love makes you come running, to stand back where you stood_. . . .’

The song trails off and Medea stands at the centre of the stage, a hand resting delicately on his cocked hip and a haughty smirk adorning his face. The cheers, whistles, and the standing ovation is all deafening and Zayn thinks that the winner is clear already.

Several minutes pass by as the judges deliberate and Zayn has to endure Niall and Harry whispering into each other’s ears and giggling like a couple of school kids. Liam is busy texting his girlfriend and Zayn rolls his eyes at the scene he is stuck in.

At the end, Medea is crowned the winner and he does one final strut down the stage. There is a part in the stage that diverts into the audience and Zayn swears that he sees Medea wink at his direction. Medea takes a floral hairpin from his hair and throws it directly at Zayn. He catches it out of reflex and studies it. It’s made of pink and white camellias. When he looks up he sees Harry’s face inches away from his and full of awe.

“Mate, you’re so lucky!” he exclaims.

“Why?” Zayn asks. It’s just a bloody accessory.

Niall scoffs. “Why, he asks. You fucker, have you not noticed that we’re in a strip club? Medea doesn’t offer private shows often but when he does, I’ve heard of how mind-blowing it is.”

 _Hold up_. “Strip club? Why are they doing a drag show in a fucking strip club?”

Harry shrugs. It’s creepy how he and Niall can continue each other’s thoughts like that. “Dunno. It’s their business, innit? You should talk to the staff here to get it sorted out.”

 

 

-

 

 

And that is how Zayn finds himself at the same club again half a week later on a Thursday night. He’s lucky that he hasn’t got an early morning class because so many blokes have offered to buy him drinks in the span of twenty minutes that he has been there. Since he didn’t want to appear rude and standoffish, he’s accepted some of them and even let a few drunkards grind up against him.

The strip show is supposed to start in a few minutes and from the conversation he had with the show manager, he knows that Medea is scheduled for the first so that Zayn can get to his private show quickly.

When the intro of a song flows out from the speakers, Zayn has to hold back a groan. His annoyance is short-lived as Medea makes an appearance in skin-tight leather trousers with lace-up legs so that a sliver of his legs up to his hipbones are visible to the eye. He is wearing an equally tight leather vest with the lace-up front that showcases a hint of Medea's abs that makes Zayn’s mouth water.

“Enjoying the view, eh?” Niall sneers. Harry is clinging to Niall’s side like he does when he’s drunk and Niall’s has got an arm wound around Harry’s torso protectively.

“Shut up, Horan. This is why Liam’s my favourite,” Zayn grouses.

Case in point, Liam isn’t with them to poke fun at Zayn with every minute that passes.

Medea sashays hips and caresses the insides of his thighs to ‘ _See anybody could be bad to you/You need a good girl to blow your mind, yeah_.’ There is a pole conveniently set up near where Zayn is stood and Medea smirks in his general direction as he grips the pole and spins around it a couple times to the beat of the song.

 _‘Bang bang there goes your heart (I know you want it)_  
_Back, back seat of my car (I'll let you have it)_  
_Wait a minute let me take you there (ah)_  
_Wait a minute 'til ya (ah)’_

Medea is thrusting against the pole, arse jiggling even with the leather restriction. He hooks his leg around it and lets his hand skim down the front of his trousers, earning whistles and shouts of encouragement.

Zayn’s dick definitely does not twitch when Medea undoes the string that holds his vest together. He thrusts his hips forwards and sinuously weaves his movements to the music as he takes his vest off. His arms are yummy and glistening with a fine layer of sweat under the stage lights.

Next are his trousers. Medea definitely knows how to work a crowd as he has every single member of the audience wrapped around his finger. He is also the devil in human form, Zayn decides. It takes another song for the waistband of those damned leather trousers to slide down the curve of his bum, revealing a sparkly gold thong that compliments his tanned skin.

A third song comes on and Zayn appreciates the irony. It’s Taylor Swift, that much he can recognise thanks to Harry’s obsession with her songs. The way Medea moves his body to the slow piano melody and soft beat of the drum should be illegal. At ‘ _His hands are in my hair_ ’, Medea has his delicate fingers tangled up in his coiffed hair. At ‘ _His clothes are in my room_ ’, the zip of his trousers are tugged down rest of the way and fuck, Zayn does not lean forwards a fraction to get a better view. Medea’s hips swivel as he brings a hand up to lightly brush the fingertips on his lips as he lip-synchs, ‘ _When we’ve had our very last kiss/My last request is_ . . .’ and blows a kiss into the crowd.

The rest of it keeps getting better and better. Medea drops to the floor of the stage and crouches down. Clad in only a sparkly thong, he is quite a sight to behold. Every fluid movement as he crawls towards Zayn is highlighted by the lights above and the way his body moves graceful, something otherworldly.

He definitely croons the last line, _‘Say you’ll see me again/Even if it’s just in your/Wildest Dreams’_ at Zayn and he doesn’t have the time to process it all before the lights blink out.

After the performance, Zayn is ushered to the backstage area. He passes by the next act who appraises him with envy so obvious in his eyes.

The dressing room he is led to has Medea written on the white board and he knocks.

“Come in,” Medea’s voice flows out. The corner of his mouth curls up into a predatory smile when he sees that it’s Zayn. “Good. Your friends are well fit but I really wanted you to be my lucky private show winner.”

“Do you do that often?’ Zayn asks.

“Not as often as our customers would like,” Medea smirks. “Which is how we keep ‘em coming back for more. There is a good reason why I’m the top-paid act at this club.”

Zayn swallows nervously. “Really?”

Medea nods slowly. “Take a seat,” he gestures at the sofa. It looks worse for the wear but when Zayn plops down onto it, it’s surprisingly plush and soft.

“You’re a bit overdressed for this,” Medea murmurs. He pushes at the shoulders of Zayn’s favourite leather jacket and Zayn shrugs it off obediently. Medea is dressed in a loose vest that leaves most of his chest and sides visible and a pair of shorts that’s made of silk-like material.

Medea strides over to the table and in a few seconds, a familiar Ed Sheeran tune fills the room. He slowly stalks towards Zayn, eyes piercing into Zayn’s as he closes the distance between them.

 _‘It's late in the evening_  
_Glass on the side_  
_I've been sat with you_  
_For most of the night_  
_Ignoring everybody here_  
_We wish they would disappear_  
_So maybe we could get down now’_

Medea circles the sofa Zayn is sat at a couple times before he stops in front of Zayn and hitches a leg up and puts it next to Zayn’s thigh. He leans in close, close enough for Zayn to touch and to feel Medea’s breaths fan over his face. Medea pulls back in a beat and twirls around. His arse is magnificent, even more so closer up and Zayn has to sit on his hands so that he won’t touch. His experience at strip clubs is severely limited but he knows enough to not reach out and touch.

“Usually we tell the clients to not touch,” Medea whispers. “But since we’re alone in this room, I won’t mind if you wanna slap my arse a couple times.” He throws a wink over his shoulder and Zayn blushes.

Medea turns back around and straddles Zayn. Zayn groans because Medea is holding himself in a way so that the only points of contact for them is Zayn’s shoulders that Louis is grasping.

“ _I need you darling_  
_Come on set the tone_  
_If you feel you're falling_  
_Won't you let me know_ ,” Medea sings along to the track and the raspy voice that he uses is the last straw. Zayn’s self-control snaps and he brings his hands up slightly to squeeze Medea’s bum and force him down onto his lap. He darts forwards and presses his lips to Medea’s, savouring the soft gasp and nipping at the thin lips.

“You naughty boy,” Medea whispers as he breaks the kiss. “I’m not that kinda boy, you know. Just because I shake my arse around in front of the lot of you wearing next to nothing don’t mean that I’m gonna sleep with just anyone.”

“We don’t have to,” Zayn affirms. “Been dying to do that, is all.”

Medea smirks, a twinkle entering his eyes. “Was it as good as you imagined?”

“Better.”

The boy in his lap sighs dramatically and climbs off him. “You’re lucky that you’ve got that pretty face of yours. Gimme your mobile.” Zayn obliges and it clicks into his brain what Medea is up to once he starts typing in a number. “Don’t make me regret this, Zayn.”

It takes a few moments for Zayn’s brain to process it, mostly because he is reading the name off his mobile screen. (Louis Tomlinson.) “How do you know my name?”

Louis shrugs. “Harry may have mentioned that you were smart and very single a couple of times. He also mentioned that trying to get you into a relationship might be tricky since you’re fresh off a long-term relationship.”

“I can handle something that’s casual. Something great,” Zayn admits.

“I’ll look forward to it, then.”

 

 

-

 

 

“So?” Harry drawls. Zayn frowns into his sandwich and takes his time chewing it.

“’M eating,” he mumbles.

“You know he’ll be an annoying twat until you answer,” Liam inputs oh so helpfully.

Zayn sighs. “I like Louis, happy?”

Niall cackles. “Was it his bum or his pretty face?”

“Actually,” Zayn grabs for Niall’s chips and that shuts him up for a bit, “I like that he’s all fiery. Guess it doesn’t hurt that he’s good at his job too.”

“Gonna make him dress in barely-there’s for foreplay?” Harry asks. For a moment, Zayn slips up and lets his mind wander to that imagination. Louis’s cheeks pink and eyes feverish with lust. His thighs spread wide and the only thing that is covering up his golden skin a skimpy bra and knickers.

“Zayn, we’re in public!” Niall chides in mock-horror.

“Shut up, the lot of you,” Zayn grouses. “I need new friends who aren’t too invested in my love life.”

Liam pats his shoulder in sympathy. Zayn decides that he does, in fact, love Liam best.

 

 

-

 

 

“Surprise,” Louis exclaims as he brandishes a bottle of wine and a Tesco bag.

Zayn blinks. And blinks again. Yup, Louis is indeed stood in his doorway wearing worn-in hoodie and joggers. “How’d you find out where I live?”

Louis laughs. “Harry is a pushover. Plus, I got him a cheap but quality toy he could try out with Niall.”

It’s hard to make Zayn blush noticeably but Louis is getting too good at it too quickly. “Like I needed one more addition to the mentally scarring images of them,” he huffs as he stands aside to let Louis in. “What’s in there?”

“Sandwiches and some Pepsi just in case you didn’t feel like getting bladdered at five,” Louis answers breezily. “And some condom and lube as well because I like to be prepared.”

Okay, this is the first time that Zayn has pursued an actual relationship with a bloke. He’s had a couple of drunken hand jobs at the loo but wanting something more meaningful? Louis takes the cake for being his first.

“Casual, yeah?” Zayn asks more to reassure himself.

“Whatever you want, babe. I’ve had my share of heartbreaks and I daresay that friendship is more crucial to healing a broken heart than a new love. Love’s a game, and unless you’re in a mood to play so I ain’t gonna press ya.”

“Good. I was just about to start watching _How To Get Away With Murder_ since Liam thinks it's brill.”

Louis’ eyes light up. “That’s the one with that bloke with yummy stubble, innit? Seen pictures and gifs of him floating around on Tumblr. Wonder if he’s gay in real life, ‘cause the actor for his not-boyfriend is.”

“Somehow it doesn’t surprise me that you’ve Tumblr,” Zayn tease.

“Hey,” Louis scowls and punches Zayn’s shoulder. He marches into the lounge and drops onto a sofa. “Tumblr isn’t all about inter- and intra-fandom wars. There’s useful stuff there too and I like following some makeup blogs to help with my drag performances. Speaking of, guess who made it on the local gay ‘zine as the best drag queen?”

Zayn bites into a chicken salad sandwich and puts on his best contemplative face. “Mm, out of the people that I know, who has the prettiest face and an arse comparable to Kim Kardashian?”

Louis sticks his tongue out. “Mine is finer than hers, fuck you very much. I even got to do a spread, see?” He thrusts the magazine in front of Zayn’s face, already open to the pages on which Louis is featured.

There isn’t much different to Louis and his stage persona. Medea’s eyes are lined heavily with smoky silvers and purples, lashes exaggerated with the fake lashes that would look ridiculous on most girls. His lips are painted the colour of fresh blood and Louis’ already prominent cheekbones are even more defined in the get-up. Louis’ outfits are nothing but stiffy-inducing, as embarrassing as it is.

“Careful, Mr Malik,” Louis smirks. “Need to cool down for a mo?”

“Not at all,” Zayn grits out. He goes into the kitchen and browses through the cupboards until he spots rather dusty wine glasses. After a cursory rinse with the cold water, he brings them and a wine opener back to lounge and offers it to Louis.

“Ta,” Louis says and motions for Zayn to hand over the opener. He opens it with practised ease and pours both Zayn and himself a generous amount.

“Do you do this a lot?” Zayn blurts out, the wine glass half-empty. “Bring food and wine, mellow them out, then romance your way into their hearts?”

Louis giggles. His cheeks are mottled with pink spots and when he leans over to hover over Zayn, it’s almost too much and not enough. “Depends. I’m all for a good roll in the hay but I also like having boyfriends who treat me right and I'll treat them right. Think I can do that. Treat you right, that is.”

Zayn blames the stupid twinkle in Louis’ eyes as he closes the distance between them. Louis’ long eyelashes flutter closed and his lips are soft and slippery with wine. Louis isn’t the first guy Zayn has kissed but he’s the first one that he’s kissed and enjoyed it. A lot. He blames the wine as his dick starts to press against the zip of his trousers and when Louis shifts his weight and straddles his hips, he moans at the fleeting contact between their crotches.

“Hope you won’t think so low of me ‘cause of this,” Louis murmurs. He twists around and reaches into the baggie—Zayn is awed by his flexibility and doesn’t gawp at Louis’ arse at all—and brings out a small bottle of lube. “Wasn’t fibbing ‘bout this.”

He unbuckles Zayn’s trousers and opens his flies quickly and does the same to himself. Zayn gasps when Louis reaches into his boxers and tugs his cock, pulling his boxers down with his other hand. Once Zayn’s trousers and pants are around his thighs, Louis repeats the action until their hard-ons are in Louis’ grip.

“Gonna be a good boy for me?” Louis whispers. He drops his free hand next to Zayn’s hand and kisses him roughly, all teeth and almost ferocious in the intensity of it. Zayn is too close too fast and a bit of whine leaves his mouth when Louis presses his thumb into the sensitive slit of his cock-head.

Zayn looks at Louis with pleading eyes but Louis only shakes his head lightly. He reaches to pick up the lube and drizzles some of it over the tips of their cocks. Zayn is still lost when Louis lets go of his cock in favour of playing with his own, specifically the foreskin.

“Trust me, yeah?” Louis rasps and Zayn nods. He just wants to come, really. The question of how doesn’t matter all that much.

Louis pinches the tip of his foreskin and stretches it until it’s touching Zayn’s cock. Zayn bites at his lower lip when Louis covers the head of his cock with the stretched foreskin. First thought that enters Zayn’s mind is that it’s hot and very slippery. He can also feel every miniscule twitch and sluice of precome that Louis’ dick produces.

“Fuck,” he breathes out. “Doesn’t it hurt?” he blurts out.

Louis moans as he thrusts forwards a bit, his fingers holding their dicks together. “Not really. Fuck, it’s like getting fucked: you get used to the sensation in a minute or two. A different kind of stretch and, fuck, it’s loads more sensitive inside.”

Zayn doesn’t know but he does know that it’s a hell lot smoother and softer with where his own foreskin has been pushed back and rubbing against Louis’. He brings his hand up to the nape of Louis’ neck and pulls him in for a snog. Louis complies happily and resumes rocking his hips into Zayn’s.

They must have been at it for at least several minutes because soon, Zayn’s cock is throbbing with the familiar need to come and all Louis is doing is panting into Zayn’s open mouth. He slips his hand under Louis’ shirt and as soon as he locates the nipple, he tweaks his hard. That’s all it takes for Louis to come. Unlike that hand jobs that Zayn has shared in his past, there isn’t a splash of hot come on his stomach. Instead, he feels Louis come and it’s all over the tip of his prick, and it triggers his own release as well.

“Fuck,” he pants as Louis gingerly lets go of his foreskin and put some distance between their cocks. Cooler air in the room makes him shiver and his mind is still less than functional after the mind-blowing orgasm.

“Yeah. More of it in the future, if you’d like,” Louis grins snidely.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on it,” Zayn mutters. He crawls to the end of the sofa to get himself a tissue. He hands on to Louis and to his surprise, he sees Louis gather up a bit of his own come in his hand and lick at it. _Then,_ he uses the tissue to wipe off his hand. Zayn’s prick twitches with renewed interest.

“Bed. Now,” he manages.

Louis grins. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”

 

 

-

 

 

It’s a Saturday night and Zayn is sipping at some cocktail that a random bloke has gotten him. He stirs it with the maraschino cherry and bites into the fruit. About ten metres away on stage, the familiar song is playing and when the speakers blare out, ‘ _You've got a very big shhhh, mouth but don't say a thing/See anybody could be good to you/You need a bad girl to blow your mind_ ,” he hums along to it under his breath.

After a few more songs, he nods at the bouncer as he walks down the corridor of dressing rooms. He stops in front of the familiar sign and he knocks. The door opens immediately and he is literally dragged inside by a hand on his shirt front.

“Hiya,” Louis chirps. He crashes his lips onto Zayn’s before he can form a greeting in his head. Zayn can taste some vanilla and sticky substance on Louis’ lips. “Did you want a private show or summat?”

Zayn grins. “Yeah. I think I need to be shown that anybody can be good to me.”

Louis returns his grin, only a hundred times filthier. “I think I know exactly how to achieve that.”


End file.
